


All (will be) Right

by K9_DFTBA



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Hopeful Ending, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Welters Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K9_DFTBA/pseuds/K9_DFTBA
Summary: Q wasn't sure if something was missing. He used to think there was-- he felt it like a missing limb. But now… Now, he thought maybe if there was something missing it didn't matter, because maybe he would be okay regardless. He had more than a few people to thank for that.(Eliza wasn't the specialist, but somehow that's okay.)





	All (will be) Right

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A MESS BUT I SORT OF LIKE IT??? ITS MOSTLY ABOUT CHARACTER INTERACTIONS IDK IF THE PLOT ACTUALLY MAKES SENSE I JUST WANTED TO PLAY W/ THEIR DIALOUGE OF FRIENDSHIP OH MY GOD IVE GOTTA POST THIS NOW I HAVE NO TIME BYE  
> (hey the mental illness stuff was tricky sorry if it comes across weird it's all from personal experience and we r all different ppl so idk idk I hope I don't make anybody sad)

 

OhOhOhI’mAfraidOfTheThingsInMyBrainSoWeCan

Q wasn't sure if the turn his illness had taken was for the better or worse. His anxiety was gone, but with it had gone his will. He was not anxious anymore because he knew that if he did something wrong it didn't matter. But he also knew if he did something right it didn't matter.

Before he had been a swirling mess of highs and lows. He was his depression made him want to hide and his anxiety made him fear both the consequences of hiding and the consequences of leaving. His hands shook when he went in public but he had attacks over not being enough if he stayed at home.

He was a mess of highs and lows, but somehow he had managed to have a life. He was up enough to get things done, but down enough to hide out and recuperate when he needed to. His anxiety had made him curious, but his depression had made him safe. Maybe it wasn't the best way to live, but it was better.

Better than this.

He ended up back in the institution. He didn't remember how he got there. He knew he had been home, for a bit, but then he was here. He remembered his parents faces as he left, as if through water. He couldn't remember if they dropped him off, of if someone came for him, or if he went himself. He did know if it was part of the time he was missing, or if his illness was simply clouding his mind.

He knew, before, he would have been obsessed with what he was missing. Now he couldn't remember what obsession felt like.

Yet, he felt it. He felt it like one feels phantom pain in a missing limb. It was like, sometimes, his brain instinctively reached for something, and then couldn't find it. It felt like déjà vu, but hit like his panic attacks used to, with knee buckling force, and fear that he was not in his own mind.

But he never panicked. He just… floated.

Eventually, Julia came to see him. He tracked her red X and lock tattoos with interest as she crossed the room. He wondered how long he had been here that he didn't know every inch of her skin, anymore.

He remembered they were fighting, but he couldn't remember why.

He tore his eyes from her arm, and curled farther into his blankets. He latched his eyes onto the light rays sneaking through the blind slats, and voiced his thoughts.

“We were fighting. Why?”

She came to sit next to him. Her face was soft. But it was not fond, like it once was. It was not kind, like it once was. It was not sympathetic, though he saw in her eyes she knew more than she would say.

He couldn't tell if she was still angry, or altogether a different person than he remembered. He wasn't sure he would ever know.

“Something that seems hypocritical now, Q.”

He flinched. Julia did not notice that he flinched at the sound of his own name.

“But I wonder if you weren't just trying to protect me from this,” she said, and her face softened, this time in the fond way.

She placed a hand in his hair, and stroked.

“You don't want to fail,” she whispered, under her breath, in a tone of voice with indicated she was quoting him to himself, though he never remembered speaking those words.

“Don't you want to find out what happened to you?” She asked, as she moved her hand from his hair to his hand.

She froze as she grabbed it, looking down at it. It was still. So still. Before, his hands were never still. His hands shook and fluttered, wracked with nerves. Now, Julia reflected that they mirrored the hands of a dead man, still as stone.

She hissed, as if burned, and retracted her hands. She gazed at him, and suddenly, he noticed the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, her shaking hands, and slumped shoulders. She looked like an addict in withdrawal. With this thought, he felt and old feeling, a care, stir through him.

She rubbed the tattoos.

“I'm done with this. We’re done. Q, we’re done. No more. I swear, not for either of us. I'm getting us out.”

He didn't know what she meant, exactly. Not consciously. But her words simultaneously felt like she was taking away his life and giving him a way to get it back. It felt like she was both taking away his purpose and giving him one.

It felt like sacrifice. But it also felt like a solution.

“Can I take you home?” Julia asked.

In that moment, he reformed his definition of friendship.

A friend is action. A friend fixes, and heals, even when they don't have to.

IfOnlyIWereCalmAndNormalIfOnlyIWereCalmAnd

He got a job at the library, with Julia's help, but of his own volition.

He helped kids find books, and taught the technologically inept how to use the internet. He took action-- he helped. It was enough to get him out of bed in the morning.

One day, a white-blond girl ran into him, literally. She was carrying and old looking stack of books, and he immediately knew they did not come from his library. He said nothing.

“Q?” She asked, sounding shocked.

He flinched.

“I'm sorry,” he began, unapologetic, but characteristically quickly, “my memory-” he finished, with a gesture rather than words.

She nodded comprehendingly, but not understandingly or empathetically. He recognized her look.

“We were fighting too, huh? Jules and I were fighting, but we’re fine now, maybe we can be fine, too,” he rambled.

He was getting nervous. It was refreshing.

She considered him, coldly, but after a moment she began to look sad and nostalgic.

“Your books. The Fillory ones. Can you show me to them?” She asked, her feminine voice farmilliar.

He did, and she took a copy of each book from its shelf.

“Will you sit with me while I study?” She asked, it what, he knew, was for her a meek voice.

They sat, and she just looked at him for a minute.

“How are you?”

He nodded in a way that meant, “Alright.”

“I'm home from the hospital. I'm stable. Jules is helping,” he said, detachedly.

“You've changed,” she said.

He didn't bother asking from when. It wouldn't have helped. He was different. He didn't feel right in his own head. His identity was so tied up in his will and wants that when that need had been taken away he wasn't… he… he just wasn't. He wasn't

“I'm not feeling like myself,” he replied.

It was a casual sentence which was actually anything but.

Her eyes sharpened, studying him. She looked concerned. He felt comfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. He felt as if he had always been under it.

This is good, he thought, relaxing back into his chair, she's good.

Her eyes looked sad.

She got up, and walked over to him. She squatted down and looked him in the eye, her baby doll dress riding up to just above her knee.

“I'll do some research,” she said, and that meant the world.

It meant, I'll help you, I love you, it's going to be okay. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did.

She stood, and placed a hand on his face.

“My name is Alice. I'll see you soon, Quentin, we all will.”

She placed a kiss on one of his cheeks, swept up her books, and was gone.

Quentin added to his definition of friendship as he watched her slight frame leave his library.

A friend is a partner. A friend know their strengths, and uses them to fight, tooth and nail, for those they are loyal to, endlessly. A friend is not just kindness, a friend is strength.

WhatWasItAboutThatNightConnectionInAnIsolating

Quentin could hear Julia and… someone else… someone, a woman, he knew, or had know.

(Did it matter? Could he trust his mind? Did it matter? Who was he?)

They were talking about him.

“He doesn't flinch when I say his name, anymore,” she said, sounding tired.

Q hadn't known she had noticed that.

He imagined she had a hand to her head, eyes downcast. He heard her give a breathy laugh, humorless.

“I guess that's a low bar but,” she paused, and he imagined she gestured, sharply, “it's good. He's good. He's Q, or, almost.”

“He was flinching at his own name?”

The woman's voice was smoky, like Julia’s. He imagined they were kindred spirits, soulmates. He imagined he heard it in their voices, in their quality and intonation.

“Yeah,” Julia answered, more sigh than word.

The other woman said nothing. He couldn't capture her in his mind's eye, so he couldn't imagined what her mannerisms would look like. Or he shouldn't have been able to. But he could. She probably had her lips pressed together, her pale skin wrinkling around them. Her eyes were lined in an unsurprising color, and were guarded and unrevealing.

“I'll see what I can do. Talk to Penny, maybe,” she said, breathy, and then paused, “and don't tell Q I stopped by, if you think it'll be bad,” she finished, hurriedly.

“Alright. Thanks, Kady.”

“Anything… Best bitch,” she said, and he imagined there was a small smirk tugging at her lips.

He heard shuffling noises which meant Kady was being shooed off. He imagined they hugged before he parted.

Quentin, again, added to his definition of friendship, as he was pulled a little more out of his stupor with the knowledge that there was yet another person looking out for him.

A friend is never in it for the glory. They don’t crave the appreciation. They support, unwavering.

WillSomeoneCareWillIWakeTomorrowFromThisNight

Quentin was writing, again. Not about Fillory, this time, but about children's literature, still. It was a purpose. It might even get him into school.

His door banged open, and somehow he had expected it-- had been expecting it since he had heard Kady utter the name “Penny” from through the door.

“Coldwater!”

Yep, that was his name. For the first time in awhile, it felt right. He didn't know if the angry tone was genuine, but he knew it was right. Something in him clicked into place.

“Greetings, asshole,” he said, unthinking, eyes not rising from his screen.

Penny’s eyes bulged, and Quentin couldn't tell if it was in surprise, or if his face was just like that. Maybe Quentin was too casual. He assumed they knew each other. Or, at least, he knew Quentin. Quentin didn't know anyone.

Penny stayed for awhile. They had conversation, people filtered in and out of the room. Quentin knew something had happened, but he couldn't remember what.

Yet, when Penny left, he knew something new.

A friend is honesty. They are more realism than kindness, at times. They are truth and respect in a world of sugar coating and condescension. Sometimes they are a punch in the face, and sometimes that’s okay.

ThesePeopleRaisedMeAndICan’tWaitToGoHomeI’m

Her timing, as always, was perfect. He wasn't sure how he knew she was always perfect. He decided that a quality as inherent to a person as perfection was to her existed so purely that it could not be corrupted by a faulty brain.

She was crying. Tears sparkled in her beautiful, brown eyes, and it was both familiar and unnatural.

He had been sitting on the couch, facing the window, watching the sunset. She joined him, and grabbed his hand.

“Margo,” she said, in greeting.

It was a kind gesture, and it filled Quentin with more emotion than he had felt in a while. It showed she not only understood him, but also what she could do to help.

He squeezed her hand in reply, and she sniffled. He put an arm around her shoulder, and pulled her close. It felt natural. A single, silent sob racked through her body. She stifled it.

“Look, I know you don't remember him, but, next to all that emptiness, the missing feeling, there's a pain. I know there is. And I can fix it. I will.”

She curled farther into him.

“He’ll be here, eventually. He’s just scared. I can't fix this, I just can't, Q, but I can fix you two. And that matters, screw everyone who says otherwise,” she finished, sharply.

He pressed a kiss into her hair. The sun was lower in the sky now.

“It's bad out there, Q. We need you. We need your nerd, but we need your heart, too.”

He considered.

“It probably won't be okay. But you’ll be okay. You always are.”

She nodded. It was weak.

She sobbed sharply.

“I miss you, Q.”

She didn't move from his embrace for a long while.

Q decided, peering down at Margo, that friendship is detailed. It's doing the little things, and knowing they aren't little. It's unselfish, but not unreliant, or unafraid to ask for help. Friendship is help and healing, one step at a time.

TheFactThatYou’reAliveIsAMiracleJustStayAliveThat

  
He fell into step next to Quentin on his way to work. He walked what should have been a little too close, but wasn't. He pressed a coffee into his hand.

“Is there alcohol in this?” Q asked, instinctively, before taking a sip.

“You should probably be less trusting, Q.”

The man, like Margo, was perfect. His attire was proper. He towered over Quentin, his elegant posture an outward projection of his chosen personality.

He looked not unlike Margo had, with tired red rimmed eyes, but he, unlike Margo, was not crying. He actually looked slightly elated, if Q were to guess.

“Before, you were… let's say, distressed, about forgetting. I made you a promise. I'll keep it.”

“I know, El.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow.

“You knew my name.”

Had he? Quentin couldn't remember. It hardly mattered. He didn't much care about what had happened.

Q shrugged.

Eliot pulled him to the side by his arm, sharply, so that he could look into his eyes. He never let go of Q’s arm.

“I'm worried about you.”

Q considered this for a long moment.

“That's alright, ah, I mean… being worried means you care, I guess, I'm okay with that, you caring, I mean.”

A smile rose on Eliot’s lips.

“There’s our boy,” he said, beginning to drag him along, their arms still intertwined.

“We’ll get you back yet, Q.”

Later, Q couldn't remember how they had parted ways, but he did remember something else.

He remembered that friendship is in the act of seeking. Friendship is found in those who find you when you need them most, and those who find you because they can't live without you.

You'veGotAFriendInMeYou’veGotTroublesWellI’veGot

A world, or maybe multiple worlds, away Quentin Coldwater’s friends were gathered on a stone cliff. Without Quentin Coldwater.

Surprisingly to some, but not all, Penny was the one to speak up.

“Every sense in my,” he paused, gesturing aggressively to his head, palms wide and fingers arched, “fucking head is telling me that this is wrong. Even I know we can't be here without Quentin.”

“It could be the time loops. Leftover knowledge,” Alice offered.

“Listen, I love Q, but we can't just leave this. El?” Margo replied.

Eliot was looking off the cliff into the horizon.

“Bambi, what do you know about this place?” He said, slowly, an odd, almost nostalgic, quality to his voice.

She said nothing.

“Why did it have to be here? Why does every other way end with all of us dead?” he said, then paused, “It's the same question-- Why did the beast single out Quentin? Why does it feel wrong that he's not here?”

“Q is Fillory,” Alice said, summarizing his sentiment.

“Alright, alright,” Margo drawled, “say we go get him. He’s barely functioning. How can he help? We’re just going to get him killed.”

Penny stepped up.

“Okay, whatever, just put aside the beast and all this life-or-death shit for a second,” he said, gesturing sharply for emphasis, “we are about to become fucking… monarchs of Fillory. I don't care if he can't help us stop the beast. We need him running this kingdom.”

Margo didn't get angry often, but...

“I'm sorry if I wasn't thinking that far ahead! How can we even be discussing bringing a vulnerable, magic-less person into the middle of this fight? Especially when that person is Quentin?”

“How could I be high king of Fillory if Q isn't even here?” Eliot wondered in retort.

“I won't do it,” Penny said, with finality.

All eyes turned to him.

“I won't. I don't have a responsibility to you assholes. I've got my own shit to deal with, I won't be apart of this.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Let's go get Quentin,” Alice said, decidedly.

And so, they did.

Soon, Q would learn that friendship is when you don't feel right without someone by your side. More than, it's wanting someone by your side, for better or for worse.

RunLostBoyThey’dSayToMeAwayFromAllOfReality

Q came home from work early to find people-- no, not people, his friends, he knew that much-- lounging around his and Julia’s living room.

“Q? Aren't you like, half a day early,” Julia said, referring to his early arrival, sounding light hearted.

“I had a panic attack and they sent me home,” Q said, happily.

“Oh, Q!” Julia exclaimed quietly.

They grinned dopily at each other in the way only best friends do.

“Is that something to be excited about?” Alice asked, in that sharp way that meant she was worried, or maybe a little angry.

“Yeah, it sort of is, it's like, I haven't had anxiety since, well… before, I guess, whatever that was. Which should be great right? But no, it's like…” he said, for a moment really sounding like himself, but then he deflated, and trailed off, not even finishing his thought.

The smile fell from Julia’s face. As Quentin went quiet, so did everything about her. Margo, who had previously been watching on silently, sat up a bit from where she was curled into Eliot to get Q’s attention.

“Come here, darling, sit down,” she said, patting the spot on the other side of Eliot.

Q nodded complacently, and did so.

“Alright, Alice, tell us what you’ve got,” ordered Margo.

Alice pulled out a tall leather bound notebook, and passed it around the group.

“Quentin was acting so different that I knew the specialist had to have done more than just erase his memory. So, I looked into it, and came up with this theory that she had somehow taken away his curiosity, too, or something like that, so that he would come looking for magic…” she said, before trailing off for a second, and grabbing her copy of the notes, scanning them before speaking again, “taking into account his anxiety… actually gives this more credibility. The specialist has never published any papers, but I was able to break into the school records and find her old research papers. She was, and hopefully still is, working with purely psychic magic. Think of what she did to Quentin in the same way you think of bottling emotions. His curiosity, or his anxiety, or his… will, I guess, was completely separated from him-- it's gone.”

“That doesn't sound like a solution,” Margo said slowly, almost dangerously.

Alice shot her a look, but pushed forward, talking faster and more intensely.

“So she approached it like a psychic, but what if we approached it like a physical kid? The neural pathways are still there, as far as we know. She didn't give him brain surgery, as far as we know. So, we combine physical and psychic magic to find the affected pathways, and we physically refire them. The spells are in the notes.”

“These spells are highly experimental… and by highly experimental, I mean you invented them. They've never been tested,” Eliot drawled, unhappily.

“Well, what did you expect?” Alice exclaimed, sharply simplistic.

“Easy, Alice,” Margo said, placatingly, “I think it was more hope than expectation,” she finished, rubbing Eliot’s shoulder comfortingly as he decidedly did not make eye contact with the rooms occupants.

“What are the risks?” Julia said, breaking the silence.

Alice just looked at her.

“There have to be risks, what are they?” Julia repeated.

“About half of what's involved in actual brain surgery,” Alice began, bluntly, “the second stage-- the spells used to actually trace the affected pathways-- are extremely precise, but if we identify the wrong areas…”

“So what you're saying is, if we kill the piss-baby, it's my fault?” Penny asked, expression only describable as disgusted.

Q’s eyes sharpened, just barely.

“That was rude,” he said, mimicking Penny’s disgusted tone, but still sounding a little far away.

Penny’s scarf flapped in some non-existent wind, as if to reflect his annoyance.

“Bitch,” he accused, eyes narrowed.

“Jerk,” Q replied, looking more grounded than he had in a very long time.

His eyes widened, and he began to look a little worse for wear, just around the edges.

“Listen, I trust Alice. I believe that this will work, I do. But I trust you guys too, alright? Make a decision and go with it, don't worry about what I would think,” he said rapidly.

He was putting emphasis on odd places of his sentences again, like he used too. It was as if his sentence mean infinitely more in his head than he could properly convey.

“That's a lot of responsibility, Q,” Julia said, softly.

“A lot of pressure, more like,” Margo corrected.

“Jesus, does nothing make you people happy? You care more about my life than I do, just make a goddamned decision,” he said, a conflicting mix of harsh-agitated and soft-nervous.

The rest of the room stared at him, surprised.

“Well, it's true,” he muttered under his breath, before drifting off to whatever corner of his mind he visited when he wasn't present in the conversation.

Eliot wrapped a protective arm around Q, who did not noticeably react.

“We’ll do it,” Penny said, looking around the room as if waiting to be challenged.

No one did.

Friends shouldn’t be those who care about you more than you do yourself, but sometimes, they are, but more importantly, you can rely on them to be.

DoYouRememberWhenYouFirstMetISureDoItWasSo

They did the spells. And he was still alive. Quentin opened his eyes.

“Q?” Julia asked, sounding concerned.

“C’mon, loser, get your ass back to the living,” Penny put in, fauxly unkind, sounding warning.

Q jerked towards him, shoulders held tall, looking angry.

“Woah, dude…” Penny said.

Penny pulled his arms up in a defensive pose, fingers automatically coming into a position to put up a shield. He’d been caught unawares by Q before, and well… everyone knew how well that had turned out.  
In an instant, history repeated itself. Q fired off a spell. It was undeniably battle magic, but it wasn’t anything they had been taught. It was a sort of gut instinct combination-- old reliable spells Q had always used, combined with violent intent. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did. Penny, this time not putting up a shield despite being prepared to, crumpled to the ground.

“What the fuck, Q?” asked Margo, stepping between them.

“Q! No!” Exclaimed Julia, simultaneously.

Alice lingered to the side, watching on with sharp, intelligent eyes.

Eliot stepped behind him, preparing to restrain his hands.

Amidst the chaos, Quentin’s aggressive composure vanished. He stepped back, tripping over Eliot, who caught him immediately.

“Sorry… Sorry… oh my god, I’m sorry… I…” Q stuttered, shaking violently.

Penny groaned, but began to stand up.

“You couldn’t hurt me,” he grumbled, obviously injured.

Q’s eyes fixated on him for a moment, but then slid away. And with that, he was gone.

But his hands still moved. They shook, and fidgeted, and imitated spells, both real and illusions, like they hadn’t in a long time.

“Q? Do you remember us?” Alice piped up.

“Hmm?” Q asked, still in some far away place, “No.”

“But you can do magic?” she continued.

He gave a considering look to his hands that said, Is that what that was?

“He remembers how to do magic but not…. everything else?” Julia questioned slowly.

“How?” Margo demanded, not as intense as she could have been.

Alice sat down heavily. Her notes were in her lap, but she didn't look at them.

“Memory is… complex. It isn't stored in just one section of the brain, it's connected to everything. We miss one thing, and he doesn't remember. Motor skills are more simple. Spells that he used a lot, or thought about a lot, they could be more muscle memory than anything. He may remember other things, too. Simple facts, or things he thought about a lot. I really don't know.”

Penny began muttering under his breath about simplicity. He sat down heavily.

“I need a drink,” Eliot mumbled.

Eliot walked away in search of alcohol, letting go of Quentin. Q immediately began to stumble, but Margo stepped in to support him, glaring at Eliot’s retreating back as she did. She maneuvered Q into a sitting position.

Kady had been quiet all night. She was carefully detached. Now, in face of what seemed like the final outcome, she spoke.

“So, he may never get his memories or his…” she began, and waved a hand to indicate his recent personality changes, “but he can do magic?”

Alice nodded in confirmation. There was a short silence.

“Is it too much to hope that he just… goes back to normal? He's already been getting better,” Julia said.

“Are we really back to hoping his anxiety returns?” Eliot asked, having returned, drink in hand.

“Actually, I’m almost positive he still has anxiety. The chemical imbalances… that's not what the specialist works with. Or else maybe the thing about not needing meds at Brakebills would be less bullshit. It's more like his brain… can't process it. It's like an optical illusion: your brain doesn't accept what it sees, so it shows you something that makes sense. In this case, his brain is being inhibited from experiencing anxiety, so it doesn't accept it,” Alice inserted.

“So, what does make sense to his brain? If that's your metaphor, what's the illusion?” asked Eliot, taking a sip as punctuation.

Alice was silent for a beat too long. She looked as if she was being forced to hold something sour in her mouth, but her eyes were sad.

“Depression, I think.”

A soft sound escaped Julia as everything seemed to click into place. Kady reached over and pressed a comforting hand to her shoulder.

Margo stood. She looked sharp. She looked dangerous.

“Fine. Mental illness, we can deal with. We’ve done the spell, he can do magic. It's not his memories, but to Q? It's still magic, that matters. We’ll do it again, if we have too, and focus on all that inhibiting bullshit and whatever else is messing up his personality this time. We’ll make it work.”

Penny visibly held in annoyance at the mention of redoing the spell.

“She's right. We focused on anything associated with magic. If we go in focusing on fixing all… this, we might really get him back,” Penny said, contrary to his expression.

“We need to wait to try it again. The strain to Q’s mind, and on Eliot and you, Penny… the risk would be even higher in before,” Alice said.

“We need him in Fillory yesterday,” said Margo drily.

“Jane burned a sigil into my hand in a dream. All evidence points to Fillory being real,” Q said, quickly, looking down at his scarred hand.

“I think that qualifies as something he obsessed over,” Kady noted, trying to ascertain the extent to which the spell had worked.

“It's real, Q,” Eliot said to him with a private smile, as if he was sharing a secret.

Q looked at him, eyes present and alert. His eyes sweeper around the rest of the room, observing. He was making a little electric current with his fingers, something Julia had shown him before he forgot.

Everyone else was looking at Eliot.

“What? He never knew it for sure, before. I know we were worried about telling him what he didn't remember, but he never knew about Fillory,” Eliot defended calmly.

“He's right,” Julia said in realization.

Julia and Margo locked eyes. Julia nodded.

Margo squatted in front of Quentin so that they were eye to eye. Q took in her familiar brown eyes and hair, both catching the moonlight just so.

“Q, would you like to go to Fillory. We could use your help,” she said, more gentle than she ever had anything.

He considered her.

Quentin still didn't remember. But, suddenly, he decided that was okay. Because he knew.

He knew what friendship was, and he knew that he had it.

And he knew because of that, he would be okay.

“Alright,” Quentin replied, with a lopsided smile which was equal parts elated and awkward.

Hell, maybe he would be even better than okay. He was going to Fucking Fillory, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> IM ON MOBILE I HOPE THE FORMATTING ISNT TOO CRINGEY  
> Songs used as dividers:   
> (I didn't google these to make sure the artists/titles are right so correct me if I'm wrong I literally just pulled them out of my head)   
> Dodie Clark: intertwined   
> Rusty Clanton: calm and normal   
> Rent: what you own   
> Rent: life support   
> Ed Sheeran: castle on the hill  
> Hamilton: that would be enough   
> Randy Newman: you've got a friend in me   
> Ruth B.: lost boy   
> Jack Johnson: do you remember


End file.
